Let it Rain, Let it Pour
by Bleu
Summary: So moved was I by the flashback of Derek and Addison's fight in the premiere, I decided to elaborate upon it with my own particular brand of drama, angst, and melanchol. Feedback always appreciated, but more importantly, enjoy it!


"**Let it Rain, Let it Pour"**

**by Bleu**

**(insert standard, obvious disclaimer here)**

"Jesus Christ, Addison!" Mark gruffly spat the words at her as she used all of her strength to roll him off of her.

_Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no…_

She scrambled to find something to cover herself, panic making her entire body quake.

_Oh no, oh no, oh no…Please God, no…_

In her frenzy she grabbed the first thing she saw—Derek's old CBGB tee shirt, folded neatly on the top of the laundry that sat accusingly in the corner behind the now open door. When she grabbed it, her now all-consuming terror and distress caused her to force her head accidentally through one of the sleeves. In a tumult of black tee shirt and sweat-dampened red hair, she pulled it off and successfully yanked it down again correctly.

_This can't be happening…what have I done?_

From across the room, Mark was slowly pulling his pants on. Or at least, compared to her own perception of her motions, it seemed slow.

"Addison…" was all he said before she shot a fatal glare across the rumpled, sex-scented bed and bolted out into the hallway.

_Please, please, please..._

She misjudged the corner to descend the steps and hit the wall, but didn't notice or skip a beat. She tried to focus on preventing herself from doing a header into the foyer, with its hard white marble flooring, as she tore down the thickly carpeted stairs, but tears and blind fear made caution impossible. However, some how without injury, her bare feet finally made contact with the floor with a sticky slap, and she saw Derek's outline in the dimly lit kitchen. His back was to her, and he was leaning forward, braced on his palms that were gripping the counter, his head bowed.

"Derek…" she whispered, terrified as she padded down the hall. She felt slippery, wet from the remaining dew of sex and newly formed sweat of dread. Her feet seemed to suck to the floor as she walked, and her heart was running a marathon on her breastbone.

He didn't flinch. He didn't speak. He held his position like a soldier, his knuckles white with strain and his face bloodless and pale.

"Derek." She said again, louder though still rasped with fear.

She came to his side, and saw he had pulled a bottle of Balvenie from the liquor cabinet and had already downed a glass, possibly more. His eyes bore straight ahead, the clear beautiful, sapphire clouded with unmistakable loathing, turning them indigo.

"Derek…" she tried, tears brimming in her eyes. She made a move to put her hand on his arm, but his voice made her freeze.

"Is he still here?" he asked in a low demand, his voice barely audible, tight with barely controlled rage.

Her silence drew another sentence from him. "Get. Him. Out."

She backed away slowly, goose bumps blossoming on her flesh. She had never heard that tone before, not in ten years of marriage. In fights of the past, he yelled, screamed, flushed red with fury, gestured violently, and even threw a glass at the wall once. But this…this was more than fury. This was pure contempt, and utter disgust.

She backed away slowly, but as soon as she hit the threshold of the kitchen, she spun and strode lengthily down the hall, just in time to meet Mark coming down the stairs.

"Addison!" he exclaimed in a hushed voice. "Where is he? I need to talk to him!"

"No!" she hissed desperately, wrapping her fingers around the railing as he jogged down the steps. "He wants you to get out. Now."

"I'm not just going to walk out without talking to him!" Mark argued, his face flushed red and his jaw muscles flexing.

Addison's face collapsed on itself in uncontrolled agony, and she didn't bother stopping the free flow of tears. When he rounded the railing to walk down the corridor to the kitchen, she jumped in front of him and grabbed his arms.

"Please, Mark, don't." she begged, her voice stretched whisper thin by anguish, and she dug her nails into his arms to emphasize her plea. "Please, please, please, just go."

He looked at her wretchedly, his face tinted with the unmistakable pallor of one who has been betrayed looking at the person responsible. She knew in that instant she had lost her best friend, but she couldn't care about that right now. She could not lose her husband, too.

"Okay." He murmured mournfully, looking over her shoulder to Derek. He reluctantly brought his gaze back down to her.

"What are you going to say to him?" he whispered. She shook her head miserably.

"I don't know! Just leave!" she let go of his arms to grab her hair in frustration, but then he grabbed her wrists to keep her attention.

"Are you going to tell him the truth? Are you going to tell him we're in love?"

"Mark!" she blubbered, shaking so badly it was causing his arms to shake as he held her, "Please…please…I'm begging you…just leave!"

"No, Addison, he needs to hear the truth!" he argued, grasping her with desperation, shaking her even more as if she make her see it his way.

"I…can't!" she managed. He froze, his lips parted slightly, and his eyes brimmed with tears. She ashamedly took advantage of the moment to pull her wrists from his binding hold.

"Go, Mark." She ordered through gritted teeth, hoping he didn't notice that they were chattering.

Without a word, he slowly, mournfully grabbed his discarded jacket from the nearby chair and vanished out of the front door.

Addison felt a sour surge rush up from her stomach to her throat, and she seemed permanently planted in her position, halfway between the open door Mark had left and the hostile hatred permeating from Derek in the kitchen. She was frozen, frozen with torment, devastation, and self-abhorrence.

Before she could make another move, Derek blew past her, nearly knocking her off her feet.

"Derek!" she shouted, and after a few beats bound after him as he stomped furiously up the stairs. No response.

**I'm holding on your rope,**

**Got me ten feet off the ground**

**I'm hearin' what you say, but I just can't make a sound**

"Derek! I'm sorry!" she shouted, unable to form more words as she tried to catch up with him. She reached the top of the stairs just in time to see him disappear into the room.

"Derek! Derek!" she cried. He was constantly out of her reach now, even when she stumbled into the bedroom and he was but five feet away. He was unreachable.

**You tell me that you're sorry**

**Didn't think I'd turn around, and say...**

**It's too late to apologize, it's too late.**

She leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom to combat the dizziness of her panic, and it took her a few seconds to gather exactly what he was doing.

First, in violent, angry movements, he wrenched the sheets from the bed and threw them at her. She batted them away, and when they finally crumpled to the ground and she could see him again, he was in her side of the closet, bundling clothes together.

"Derek, Derek, what are you doing? We need to talk!" He threw a few more outfits over his shoulder. "What are you doing with my clothes?"

He was gone, down the stairs, before she could make her legs work to follow.

She felt a cold rush of air explode into the brownstone when he threw the front door open, and she could only watch as upwards of ten thousand dollars of couture was pitched into the torrential downpour, onto the streets of New York City.

By the time she reached the foot of the stairs, he turned and in an abrasive, unfamiliar voice, shouted, "Get out! Get out of my house!"

"No!" she returned, clutching the stairs as if they were an anchor, crouching beside them. "No, I'm standing my ground. We need to talk."

In a gesture closer to physical violence then he had ever displayed with her before, Derek descended upon her, grabbed her by her upper arms, and dragged her to the door.

_This cannot be happening…this is not my husband…this is not Derek…_

"Derek, please!" she begged, but he didn't hear her as he shoved her onto the front stoop and slammed the door. The rain gushed in a wide stream from the slight awning behind her, but the splashes licked at the backs of her legs and the chill bit its tiny teeth into her flesh. She clung to the outside of the door, her crying turning hysterical as she pressed her hands against the fogged window, and wept frantic pleadings and barely intelligible entreaties for mercy.

For his part, Derek pressed his back to the door, and for the first time since he had walked in the door, he exhaled. As Addison sobbed not inches away behind the door, he only closed his eyes and focused on breathing.

_This is a nightmare…this is a nightmare…I'm going to wake up, and see Addison asleep next to me…this is all just a nightmare…_

"Derek! Derek!"

_I want to wake up…I have to…God, if you could just wake me up now, I'll kiss Addison and hold her closer than I ever have before…I don't think I've actually held her in a long, long time…And tomorrow I'm going to take Mark out for a guy's night…We haven't done that in a while…_

"Derrrrek, it's so cold, it's raining! Please let me back inside! Please, I love you!"

_Wake up, wake up, wake up…_

A few beats passed as he tried to will himself to wake up, but the lingering smell of Mark's cologne in the house, the taste of Balvenie on his lips, and the sound of Addison's hysterics on the other side of the door told him that this was not an illusion created by his subconscious. It was a nightmare, all right, but he wasn't waking up.

Resigned to the awfulness of his present, Derek pulled himself off the door and opened it, allowing Addison, now soaked with rain, tears, and sweat, back into the house.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you…" she repeated, coming towards him with her hands raised as if in surrender. He only stood there as she wrapped her arms around him and whimpered consoling reassurances.

**I loved you with a fire red-**

**Now it's turning blue, and you say**

**"Sorry" like the angel Heaven let me think was you,**

**but I'm afraid**

**it's too late to apologize.**

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…Derek, we can work through this…" she kept whispering through her choking sobs. "We're Derek and Addison…We're Derek and Addison…I'm your wife...I love you…"

**I'd take any chance, take a fall,**

**Take a shot for you,**

**And I need you like a heart needs a beat,**

**But it's nothin' now.**

"No." he replied firmly, and irrevocably. "We're not Derek and Addison anymore."

_Fin._

**A/N: So what's with the angsty, depressing fics from me lately? I don't know. Honestly, I'm not a depressive, pessimistic person. I was just very moved by this scene in the premiere (credit to Patrick and Kate for portraying it so realistically), and then I was listening to the featured song, "Apologize" by Onerepublic, and I _had_ to write something. I'll try to work on something more upbeat…maybe…**

**In any event, I hope this was enjoyable.**

**And the featured song, again, is "Apologize" by Onerepublic. **

**xo Bleu**


End file.
